Letters And Words Strung Together
by Sophiethepegasus
Summary: (Sequel to Maybe Next Time.) Eponine, an aspiring author, first sees Enjolras in a Cafe and feels like she did. When given a book written by another Eponine Thenardier, and a diary from the June Rebellion for Enjolras. Enjolras in the meantime, can't get her out of his head, even with the rallies tugging his strings. E/E
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Eponine shivered as the sleet of London soaked her. What a pitiful sight she was… Here she was, freezing, hungry and alone. Her stomach writhed in pain whenever she thought of… Marius. Marius Pontmercy. Chestnut hair, hazel eyes and freckles. He had a kind of innocence that she'd never have. That brought her to the subject of Montparnasse. He wasn't bad. But she'd let him put her to bed. Not because she loved him, no, she loved no one. Not only was her father getting more money (now a whore. No one would ever love her if they knew) but she was lonely. She had her purity taken away years ago. Fifteen or sixteen, she didn't even remember. But it made her feel so _guilty _afterwards, knowing that what had happened was partly wilful.

Eponine's dirt-coated hands rubbed. Eponine's life wasn't worth living. She wouldn't do it of course. But she could dream though. Every night was a dream one. Well half. One half was full of a beautiful land, where people were happy. The other half was full of nightmares. No, the right word was _memories. _Memories of her nights on the street. The only reason she was alive was because she had a duty. To protect her siblings. In a way they'd saved her life. She couldn't exactly thank them. Eponine imagined drowning in the folds of her leather coat.

_You don't care,_ she thought. _You don't care about Marius, or Montparnasse. _

Now that she thought about it, it wasn't that surprising. Marius was rich, innocent, kind. _Of course, _a bourgeois girl with pale gold locks, angelic face had to come along and take him away. Along with that revelation, it helped the feelings reside. Eponine came to the place she wanted to be, no, _needed _to be. Shivering under the arch of the shop, she glanced up. Dark windows. Maybe she'd find a job. Eponine was luckier than a lot of people economically. She had an apartment that cost thirty pounds per month.

Panhandling wasn't something she necessarily wanted to do, but her luck was starting to run out as the police started putting note to her face. Eventually she would lose all hope. And then it was the whorehouse for her.

_You're not that hopeless, 'Ponine, _she tried to reason with herself but she knew it wasn't true. She was that pathetic. Eponine would do anything to keep her siblings' hearts beating. _Even death, 'Ponine. _Yes, even death.

Eponine walked into the shop and out of the chill of winter. She sat there. Eponine took something out of her coat. She smiled. Literature. There was nothing she loved better than sitting herself down and forgetting the Hell she lived in, even for a minute. She loved feeling as though she knew the characters, but they were her friends, not judgmental, ever changing. Eponine knew it was nothing that would be considered by a bourgeois, or anything remotely beautiful. But it was precious. Her entire life hung within those pages. So Eponine started to write about a world that was better, a world where she could be happy.

The door slammed shut and she snapped her head upwards out of curiosity. She came here maybe once a week and she rarely heard anyone come in after 4. It was five and most people had gone.

The man who walked up to the counter was beautiful. Golden ringlets were like a halo around his head. She wouldn't be surprised if women threw themselves at his feet. No doubt he was taken. "Hello."

A woman walked up to him and blushed. Golden curls of her own ran down her back. "Hello Mister. Have the gods deceived me? Or is that blasphemy, since I'm obviously looking at one."

The man didn't even seem to notice, or care about the flirt. _Definitely not single._ The man said something to the woman.

The man turned and, instead of finding a table, headed towards Eponine. She was suddenly self-conscious about her skinny body. He pulled out the chair and sat before her. "Is something bothering you, sir?"

Eponine decided to scare him off. Of course anything out of the ordinary scared them. Her eyes flicked upwards to his azure ones. And all her resolve melted like candlewax. His eyes were like the ocean. They were surrounded by a dark ring. It would be so easy to drown in them. She wasn't even sure if that wasn't a possibility. Her mouth was left wide open.

No-one spoke, until he finally broke the silence. "Uh- um, no. You looked- lonely." Of course 'lonely' sounded more like 'fascinating.' But he couldn't actually mean that, because there wasn't really anything fascinating about good old Eponine. Well, nothing fascinating that she would tell you.

"Right. Lonely. Is that an insult?"

"Never, Mademoiselle." Eponine smirked.

"Really? Mademoiselle?" Eponine scoffed.

Eponine's dark eyes watched his every move. This man was interesting and he hadn't spoken twenty words. She felt strange. Eponine felt more than strange. Never had an emotion like this raced through her from head to toe. It wasn't love, it was- as though she'd been here before.

"I'm no lady, Monsieur."

"So you're a man? I hadn't noticed." The man's lips curled upwards.

Eponine squared her body, tipped her chin upwards. "No, sir. I am the whole world. And who are you? Are you Apollo?"

The man blushed. "No, I am Enjolras. And you are?"

"Eponine. Eponine Jondrette." The feeling inside her started to race at 35 kilometres per hour. _No. You belong to Marius. No. You need to get home. No. You need to get __**away. **_

"Look, Enjolras, as much as I've enjoyed your company, I've got to get going with my writing. And I think your girlfriend will be wanting you."

Enjolras smiled and shook his head, a tumble of curls falling over his forehead. "Alas, Eponine, the girlfriend doesn't exist." Eponine spluttered, eyes widening.

"What? You're single? But surely women come from near and far with gifts for your hand in marriage."

Enjolras chuckled. "There used to be, but I put an end to it. I have no time for romance or love."

"Indeed. Love is something that just plain hurts." Eponine scrunched up her facial features. "I've had my fair share these last few days."

"I'm too busy. I run a group of journalist rebels."

Eponine smiled. "Trying to change the world. Watch out, Enjolras." She didn't say it with any meanness or spite. There was only sincerity.

Enjolras' hand seemed to hover over her own. "You said that you are here to write. What are you writing?"

Eponine's eyes blazed with pride. "Ah, Enjolras, I'm writing about the real world. Not exactly something I'm experienced in, but even so."

"May I wait until I can walk you home? I won't feel safe until you are."

Eponine shook her head. "I have a home, but it's nothing to be proud of."

Enjolras smiled. "I won't walk you in. Just to your front door."

Eponine managed to squeeze in a bit of writing, but his gaze made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Enjolras' fingers brushed her shoulder. Eponine stiffened. After a while, she muttered. "Let's go." As she walked out, the cold wind slammed into her cheeks. Enjolras noticed and took her hand.

He walked her to the door like he said. Fingers wrapped around the door knob, twisting it. Someone else finished it for him, shoving it open, and he stepped back. A girl with red hair stared at him, a purplish bruise on her cheek. Tears stung her eyes. "Oh. You have a guest." Her voice was hard like ice. She glared at Eponine. "I looked for you in your apartment." The accusation was thick in the air. Eponine smiled. "I was at a Café, trying to do something."

"Something? Are you freaking blind, Eponine, Maman and Papa won't give up. He's a _freaking con man. _What are petty fantasies going to do. They say there are talkers and doers. They're wrong. Where we live there are no doers._" _

Eponine gestured to Enjolras. "Shut up, Azelma. For your information I am _writing _so that people will _know. _They may not do something but at least they. Will. Know."

"How would you know, Ep? Yes, we're bad. But there are people who have worse. Yes we get hurt a lot and sometimes we're scared to sleep for the fear that we won't wake up the next morning, but we have food and a place to sleep and there isn't a war."

Eponine sighed and turned to a stunned Enjolras. "Maybe you should go. My father will be here soon." And then she said in a pleading voice, "Don't tell. Never tell, please."

Enjolras nodded, turned and left. Eponine watched him, knowing that she probably wouldn't see him again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She was stuck inside his head. Her dark eyes kept flashing, her lips kept parting. He saw her while he was awake, while he was asleep. He had never gone to bed so early as that night, but he did, so he could dream about her. They weren't always good dreams. One night he dreamed about a man with a bald head, a knife poised over him. Eponine screamed as searing pain collided with Enjolras.

One night he dreamed that there was a fire in a building. Eponine squatted, her fingers over her ears. As she noticed Enjolras, her dark hair flew everywhere, as though she was smoke, and who knew, maybe she was.

Enjolras opened his eyes wide on the morning of one of his rallies. _You've got to stop thinking of her, _he thought, _It's been nearly six months, you'll never see her again. _

Enjolras pulled a dark red coat over a white shirt and walked onto the streets. Cars beeped, a few shouts were heard in the rush hour of Paris. He stood there and waved as Marius Pontmercy's car pulled up beside him. "You're on time, for once."

"I was at Cosette's-"

"You're _always _at Cosette's. Of course you end up falling for a pretty bourgeois."

"Shut up, Enjolras." Marius slid over into the passenger seat. Enjolras took hold of the steering wheel and closed the door. As Enjolras drove, his thoughts kept wandering back to Eponine. Was she still alive, even? At the thought his knuckles whitened, gripping the steering wheel with more force than necessary. Unfortunately, Marius was observant today. "What's bugging you? Is our marble statue in love? Or is he nervous?"

"I don't know, maybe he's been up half the night and is trying to stay awake?" Enjolras sighed.

"So, Enjolras, one of my friends are going to be there, and no, not Cosette. She's got a sharp tongue, so if anyone's going to insult you, it's her."

Just then they reached the town square, and for that Enjolras was glad to be rid of Marius' frankly obnoxious attitude. Enjolras stood on the podium, tall. People had started gathering. He felt the prickles that came with being stared at in the back of his neck. As he turned around, a wave of surprise and confusion swept over him. "Eponine!" he exclaimed.

Eponine didn't seem to be surprised. "Hello, bourgeois boy, I'm Marius' friend. Good luck." And then she slipped away like a ghost. Maybe she was smoke after all.

Enjolras turned back to the blanket of people. He searched them all and saw a girl making her way to the back. She looked up at him and mouthed 'Impress me.'

"The people have been undermined for decades," started Enjolras, and a hush fell over the crowd. "People drop every day from starvation. They have illness and bad water, and the very lowest of food. Our children are starving and our children are left parentless. We all know that the Parisian nights are cold. The bourgeois chase us away shouting '_Vermin!' _when we are not vermin. We are hungry and our stomachs grumble. Women are easily prayed on in the dark of night, forced into prostitution. Women are looked down upon and they turn their hearts to stone so that they can keep on living.

"Children have no one to turn to. We are in a dire predicament. We have to _tell _people about it so that action can be taken."

"How would you know what are lives are like? You haven't seen them. We can't tell people, you see? None of us are innocents. Most of us have have robbed. Some of us have killed people. Not

because we're bad people, but because, like you said, we're hungry. I

have to look after four. They're not my children, but they may as well

be. Four! They have shoplifted, I've dealt in drugs on more than one

occasion although I don't now. How can we be expected to tell when

we've done just as much, maybe even worse. And the only people we know

are in the same state. The only other option would be the police. And

my face has started to be recognized by them. I can't show up there

and ask for help! Monsieur, while you no doubt have the best

intentions, there is no one to hear our pleas. And for most of us,

we've given up pleading for help because there's nothing left to

save."

Enjolras couldn't believe that this was the girl with the notebook,

slightly sweet. No, this girl wasn't sweet, this girl was as hot as

the fire in his dreams, eyes that stared into his as though daring

him. No, this was no normal girl.

People cleared the path for her, and she walked towards the stage with

a fire all her own. Maybe that was the only thing she had left.

Eponine reached the podium and crawled onto the wood.

She turned around and faced the crowd. Enjolras felt pride and rage at

the same time. He felt slightly responsible for her standing there,

facing the crowd, standing tall.

"I am Eponine Thenardier, also known as Eponine Jondrette. No doubt

you've heard of me. I've heard myself being called 'Montparnasse's

whore.' Yes, now you know who I am. You and I all have family dying.

My youngest sister, a girl called Ellouette, died the other day from

pneumonia. Mother cared for her a little bit. Father? Not a bit. The

other day as I was standing over her little dead body in the Park, a

man came up to me. Of course I was worried he'd take her from me. So I

stood in front of her. He didn't hit me. He just took a camera and

photographed it. This is the biggest act of kindness my sister ever

witnessed- well, I witnessed. Who knows? Maybe people know. But until

they know there will be no change. There are talkers and there are

doers. Yes I never give bread or money, but I write." And she took out

the little notebook from the café. She held it out, letting people see

it. "And maybe they'll know, eventually."

There was a shout from someone. "It's the police!"

First there was quiet, as they processed it. Then a bang ripped

through their ears. A woman's shriek filled the air and Enjolras

witnessed, with horror, a woman falling to the ground, blood

blossoming from her bosom. Combeferre's voice rose in the air "She's

an innocent woman! Murderer!"

People started to run, fleeing Inspector Javert's people in a panic.

He started to make his way over to Eponine. She yanked her arm away

from his hand. "Eponine, stupid girl, we've got to get out of here,"

he hissed, but it was like she didn't hear him.

Eponine faced Inspector Javert, and her eyes darkened as he raised the

gun at her and Enjolras. "Go ahead. Shoot us. Give us a martyr. This

is a bourgeois. You kill him and London erupts." Her voice was hard.

She spread out her arms like she was a bird. A raven, Enjolras

decided, as he watched her dark brown hair floating around her. "Look

at me, I'm a target! But I'm also the best friend of Monsieur

Gillenormand's grandson. Wouldn't want to spark him into action would

you? His great-grandfather fought under Napoleon, you know, in his last battle.

And he survived. Want to make a deal with the devil, fine, but there

are many consequences."

Another bang shot out and then she was clutching her hand, red

dripping through her fingers. "Merde!" she shrieked. "Bastards!

Imbeciles! Damn you!" Enjolras reached up, grabbed her and yanked her

down.

"Have you got a death wish?" he hissed. He was angry, not just at her

but at the police.

"Maybe I have," said Eponine and her voice was smooth again. Enjolras

shook his head and as she got back up started running, dragging her

after him. She shrieked as they ran. Soon Enjolras saw the warm glow

of the café. Musichetta, Joly's girlfriend would be there, and she

could call Joly.

The minute Eponine saw them, she gave a cry. "Enjolras, are you hurt?"

she asked, but when she saw Eponine she just nodded and headed for the

phone.

Enjolras nodded his thanks to Musichetta and started to lead Eponine

up to the top floor. Eponine detached her hand. Red coated her

fingers. The sound of Joly entering soon filled him with such joy that

when Joly came through, Enjolras wrapped his arms around Joly in a

hug.

Joly slipped out of Enjolras' arm and grabbed a rag. When Enjolras

turned his head, he saw that Eponine was sprawled out on the floor.

She had fainted.

He pressed the rag to Eponine's hand and red started to blossom. Joly

examined her breathing and found it normal. He pressed his thumb to

her wrist and throat.

"Moving her wasn't a good idea Enjolras. Was she at a rally? What

happened?" He said all of this while tending to her wound. "Nothing

looks out of place, but it could've been. Was she shot anywhere else?"

"No, she wasn't. And it was a rally. She took control, and when the

police came, and they- they killed a woman, she turned to them and

when they aimed at her she jeered at them and told them that I was

rich and they wouldn't want to create a martyr. I suppose they didn't

really want to kill Mister Gillenormand."

"I suppose so. Now I've found the exit wound. I think we'll have to

take her to the hospital."

Joly searched around and found a first-aid kit. He wrapped the bandage

around Eponine's hand and kept adding more. After a while the bleeding

stopped.

Eponine's eyelids slowly opened, and Joly kept his hand on her

forehead. "Don't sit up, you'll get dizzy."

"I know," she muttered. "My siblings. They know."

Joly smiled at her. "Hello, Mademoiselle. I'm Joly, I'm a doctor. We're going to have to get you into the car and take you to the hospital, all right. But you shouldn't move so we'll have to carry you."

"I'll carry her," said Enjolras. Joly nodded as Enjolras took Eponine into his arms. Eponine gritted her teeth but didn't make a noise.

"You're very brave, Mademoiselle. You aren't crying out while most people are bawling their eyes out."

"I'm a Miserable, Monsieur Joly, not brave. I've had worse. We're not allowed to cry on the streets. Makes us prey."

Enjolras sat beside her in the hospital. Eponine had fainted twice and it was a day since the rally. Enjolras had slept, but his dreams were filled with her. Raven wings spread on her back. She smiled. "Well hello again, Enjolras. I'm so glad we're back together. I love you."

Then there was a dream with guns and gunpowder. A bang fired in the air. Eponine was easily recognized. She crumpled to the ground and blood spilled over her fingers. He tried to reach her and he almost saved her. She kissed him and there was such sweetness and then she was gone behind the smoke. Maybe she was the smoke, not really there at all.

And then he was in a room and Grantaire was there. A bang and then black blanketed him completely.

Eponine's dark eyes shot open. "Azelma." She said. "Gavroche, Pierre, Jacques. Where are they?"

"Are they your siblings?"

"Yes. Well, they're more my children than my siblings. But now Azelma'll hate me."

"She won't hate you for getting shot."

"I egged him on, Enjolras."

A silence fell over them and then he spoke, leaning forward with eyes intent. "About your sister. Ellouette. Did you call a hospital?"

"No." Eponine glanced at him.

"Why not?" Surely there was some decency in the slums. _Some. _

"So she could live another day? How selfish." She let a wry laugh escape her lips. "You know, Enjolras, I can't even feel the bullet wound. You just reminded me that I'm supposed to be sobbing, aren't I?"

"I'm sorry."

"Good. Enjolras, did you call my parents? Did you call Azelma?"

"I called Azelma. I didn't know you had any parents."

"Good. My father would beat me to a bloody pulp if he knew I'd been rallying."

"Your father will never know then."

A knock on the door sounded. It was opened immediately by a red-head who he recognized. "Hello, sir."

She walked over to Eponine. "Well that was stupid, wasn't it?"

Eponine glanced at Enjolras. "Well excuse me for being human. I may as well have saved Enjolras' life. Stated the plain truth that if he was killed, then he'd be a martyr."

"So you rallied?"

"Yes. And they listened."

"They can't do anything."

"Maybe not, if they're all like you."

Azelma smiled. "Dad's gonna be real mad, you know. Montparnasse was here tonight. And you know how Dad is about him."

"I'm not a whore, Azelma."

"You kind of are."

"If it weren't for me, you would be too."

"Thanks for the reminder."

Azelma was quiet, and then a smile washed over her face. "So how was it?"

"How was what?" replied Eponine.

"You know what I mean. Rallying!"

"I suppose… I suppose it was something I can't explain. And people were _listening."_

Azelma's eyes gleamed as she listened to her sister's recount. And Eponine's eyes gleamed in her sister's attention. And Enjolras watched her with a smile on his 'marble' face.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Eponine was finally out of hospital. When she returned to her home she was right in her prediction that she'd get a beating. But there wasn't much of a change then. She'd told them she'd tried to rob an old man, and when she escaped she pierced her hand with some glass. Eponine opened the door to the bookshop. She'd saved enough money. A man with grey hair switched his gaze from his book to Eponine. "Hello, sir," she muttered.

Her dark gaze spotted the book, red leather intricately decorated. "Hello, Mademoiselle," said the man in a friendly voice tinged in a thick French accent. "What's your name?"

Eponine coughed. "My name's Eponine. Eponine Thenardier. Or Eponine Jondrette, whatever you want to call me."

The man spluttered. "My name's Jean Prouvaire Senior but just call me Jean."

Eponine smiled at him. "I think I've seen your son around. Full of poetry. Now, are there any books you'd recommend? I've got an appointment to see my friend Enjolras."

The man's book fell from his fingers as he observed her. "Yes." He got to his feet and walked into a room. "Do come in. You're special and I like you so you can see my secret."

Eponine crossed the room and entered the dark. Then he flicked on the switch and the room brightened before dimming to a musty tawny colour. Jean took two red books from the bookshelf and then sauntered over to her. "Have these for free."

Eponine flinched. "No. I can pay. I don't like charity that much."

"I insist. And it's not _charity. _Give this one to Enjolras. This one is written by Eponine Thenardier. Here's a drawing I once did of her."

A painting of a woman looking much the same as this one. "Is she dead?"

"Her father killed her." Eponine's face fell. "And her lover too. I knew them."

"What was the lover's name?"

"Enjolras."

Eponine realised that she was trembling. "Who's the other one by?" she whispered.

"Another Enjolras. In the 19th Century."

Eponine fell to the ground then and clutched her elbows. She was shaking, her eyes were wide. "Can I keep one and give the other to Enjolras?"

"I told you to. In fact, I demand it. And here's a poem I wrote of you- I mean them."

Eponine read it carefully. Her eyes closed tightly. "I've got to go, Jean."

She turned and ran, the books gathered in her arms. Eponine ran to the Café. She burst through the doors. "Enjolras!" she called.

Eponine was quiet as she ran up to the top floor.

"Eponine!" He narrowly escaped bumping into her. He took her in his arms. "Jesus, 'Ponine. You startled me."

Eponine gasped and clutched him. As she trembled, Eponine slipped him a book.

"What's this, 'Ponine?"

"Is that what you call me now?"

"Oh, o-"

"No. I like it. This is a book. It's filled with many pages and words. I've got it for you."

"I don't usually read fiction but I'll get round to it." He smiled at her, but Eponine shook her head.

"It's not fiction. It's a diary. By Enjolras. And this is my one. It's by a girl called Eponine Thenardier. She was murdered by her father." Eponine's shaking increased. She felt his fingers clutch her top and she leaned into him. "Jehan's father knew them. He gave me the book."

"Oh."

"I'm going to go now, so I can go to the Café where I write." Eponine smiled.

"I was going to go there as well, actually." He gripped her hand with a tight ferocity. Eponine beamed, and Enjolras chuckled as her fingers stopped shaking. "Is it a date then?" she asked.

"I guess."

Enjolras' fingers intertwined with her own and they hired a cab to the Café La Tage. When they got inside, Eponine sat down and started reading.

_This is the story of my very great love, Enjolras._

_By Eponine Thenardier._

_The dark clouds swirl, but they're not dramatic. There aren't many trees where we are. They're just little skeletons of what they might've been one day. A thousand years ago this place might've been pretty, but not any more. It's too full of shit and rubbish to be remotely decent. There's a shack on the border. That's where my family and I live. The broken shards of my life are still broken, but the tears stopped a long time. Picture a little girl with russet locks. Her dark brown eyes are just as stony as mine. She arrived later than me, so it's affected her more. The scars are proof. But mine came from my own. If I was braver, or a little more selfish, I would've gone with my brother, Gavroche. He's happier on the streets than here. I envy him. I'm always alone, and my thoughts scare me more than any of the drunken rages of my father._

_There are tall walls surrounding us. It's like a compound of animal shit. We're not even supposed to live here, really. But we live in that house with the straw beds. At night, the walls are so thin I can hear the wind. If a strong wind comes it'll send cracks through the wall. One day that place will crumble. We're just lucky it doesn't have Asbestos. Most houses near here do. But I guess the builders ran out. There's mold though, and that's almost as bad._

_There's one good thing in my life, though. Marius Pontmercy, I would've said two months again, but now he and Cosette are engaged. She doesn't seem to be suspicious of me. But right now my only answer would be Azelma. She's a bitch, yeah, but she's the way she is because of me. Because she sees how I am stone and imitates it. And the best thing is her heart isn't stone. For instance, the other day she heard me crying, and then crawled into my bed. Azelma ran her fingers through my hair and when I fell asleep, she turned into stone again. _

_But this isn't her story. It's mine._

_Chapter 1_

_I met a man called Enjolras today. No, that's not right, I met him a year ago and didn't see him again till this afternoon. I was walking up the street, when I saw the familiar fire-engine hair of my sister. She was there, standing among the whores of Loot & Boot. It's a pub but if you mutter some 'magic words' they'll let you through the back, to where it's a brothel. Most people know it. I know it firsthand. I used to be a whore. But I saw Azelma there and walked up to her, grasping her thin wrist. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I asked, sending daggers into hers. But she just looked back coolly. _

_"That's hypocritical, Eponine, since you were here once."_

_"And it's freaking horrible here. You are not a _whore. _I'm not anymore because the clients are violent and drunk."_

_"Mine aren't."_

_"You've had a client. You bitch, how dare you let them do something just for a little bit of money? Really, don't you remember how it was you who dad wanted to prostitute for Montparnasse. And I took your place, double time, so that you wouldn't have had to see the things I've seen. So tell me that you're at least grateful."_

_"Grateful? Eponine, I don't sleep because I hear dad screaming at you and Montparnasse. I'm the one who told Gavroche to run because he was young. Do you think I'm grateful that you're the one with the beatings and there's _nothing I can do_?"_

_A car slowed up. I turned to face it and spat, "What are you looking at. Think we're some whores, do you?"_

_She saw the silhouette of the man through the tinted windows lean forward and wind down the window. Most people knew of the brothel side. It would've been closed down a while ago if it weren't for the sheriff himself being a lonely sod. _

_"No, Mademoiselle. I'm Adrien Enjolras." _

_The coldness of those ocean blue eyes astounded me. It was like staring into the sea on a hot day, cold but inviting. His hair was like the sun. I had the astounding urge to play with his hair, but I was not sure if that'd be a good first impression. _

_"Oh how rude of me. I'm Eponine Jondrette. I'm not a whore. I'm just here to _fetch _this little bitch."_

_"Oh, okay. Do you need a lift?"_

_"Oui Monsieur. 13 McAnne Lane."_

_Enjolras opened the door and I got in. Azelma's eyes were like daggers in the back of my scalp. "Marius is nothing," she whispered. _

_When we got to our destination, Enjolras and I talked for a while._

_"Please, Monsieur. If you ever see 'Zelma back in that wretched place, drop her here."_

_"How will we make money, Eponine?"_

_"Something will come up."_

_"Right." And as Azelma cut in front of me, she muttered a spite-filled "Whore."_

Eponine put down the book.

"Now this is good."  
"It seems like it," agreed Enjolras.


End file.
